


Dissipation

by barush



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: M/M, attempted date rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-10
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 18:11:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barush/pseuds/barush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn’t how you've imagined the first day of the new year to be, sitting in a hospital at your boyfriend’s bedside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dissipation

You wake up with a start. For a while you’re confused, not knowing where you are, why you are wide awake all of a sudden and, Hell, why did you fall asleep in such an awkward position in the first place? But then the whole previous night comes rushing back to you - chaos, worry, pain and confusion. Swiftly you straighten up in your plastic chair, your stiff neck and back both cursing you for the sudden movement, but you don’t care, you need to see him, make sure for yourself that he’s alright.

Chocolate brown eyes are watching your every movement passively, looking at you from a ghostly pale face. A wave of relief washes over you as you grasp his pale freezing hand, although yours isn’t much warmer, and murmur a silent ‘hey’.

He responds in kind, only no sound comes out of his mouth. You frown for a moment before slapping yourself mentally and reaching for the glass full of slowly melting ice chips. You take one between your thumb and forefinger and wet his dry lips with it before sliding it past his lips into his mouth. If you were in any other place this action would be incredibly hot. Now it’s just something that rather a nurse should do, not you.

You watch him flipping the ice chip with his tongue and think that it’s not possible, it must have melted by now. He closes his eyes again, looking tired and haggard.

You suppress the urge to cry and clasp his hand again, this time more softly, being careful around the IV drip attached to it. You wait a moment for him to open his eyes but when it seems that it’s not going to happen, you speak up.

“You scared me,” you say in a tight voice, trying not to give away the way you really feel. Why, you have no idea.

He turns his head towards you, not actually opening his eyes, while he mouths ‘sorry’.

‘Not your fault,’ you want to say but stop short of doing it, immensely glad that your boyfriend hasn’t open his eyes again to see the expression on your face while you remember just whose fault it actually was. So instead you just whisper, “it’s okay.”

It’s early in the morning and you’re sitting in a hospital at your boyfriend’s bedside. This isn’t how you imagined the first day of the new year to be.

You feel his hand go slightly limp in yours so you think he’s slipping back to sleep. So when you actually hear his voice for the first time that day you’re almost startled.

“Don’t be mad at him, Brad,” he whispers hoarsely, keeping his eyes shut.

And it’s like he can read your mind, Chester, because you want to fucking kill him, the bastard. Somewhere in a dark alley, you’ll beat him to death with your bare fists and leave him to bleed out and be found by the first homeless guy strolling there with his trolley. They will need to use a teeth x-ray to identify the corpse as the face will be the first part of his body that you’ll destroy. You’re gonna do just that. When Chester gets better.

Your hand tightens a fraction around his when you imagine that scene. Blood is boiling in your veins and it’s getting extremely difficult to keep your voice at a normal level.

“Don’t worry,” you lie through your teeth, “just rest and focus on getting better. They might even let you out today, if I promise to look after you at home,” you smile, willing Chester to open his eyes and smile back.

And he does just that and your heart melts.

“Sleep now,” you say and he’s only too happy to obey.

Later that day, when Chester is tucked safely in your bed, still feeling a bit nauseous, you claim to have some unfinished business and leave.

You call Mike.

He picks up on the third ring and agrees to meet up with you. Yes, it’s urgent. No, come alone.

In reality it’s not as much fun as you’ve imagined but it gives you the sense of satisfaction you’ve hoped for. And that’s enough. It’s even enough to take pity on him and not deliver the last lethal punch. It’s not worth it, you think.

You certainly hope he’s learned his lesson. Nobody slips drugs into your boyfriend’s drink to get into his pants. Nobody. Not even your best friend.

The blood doesn’t want to come off your aching knuckles as if to remind you about what a horrible person you are. You wonder if Mike will be able to see his own face ever again through the dried blood stains. Because, really, it isn’t you who’s in the wrong, not by your standards.

Showered and smelling fresh, you slip into the bed and spoon behind Chester. He sighs softy and snuggles up to you.

You close your eyes and think that maybe the new year isn’t going to be as bad as it seemed just a while ago.


End file.
